


The Cry

by sepia_sigyn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 13 years old in relative Midgardian years, Asgardian!reader - Freeform, Come see the softer side of (Mister) Sneers, Comfort, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Homesickness, Loki is kind not creepy, Need A Hug, Palace servant!Reader, Worry, Young!Reader, You’re maybe 12, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepia_sigyn/pseuds/sepia_sigyn
Summary: A young Asgardian palace servant-in-training, overcome by the loneliness of a new life and an uncertain future, has a little cry in a hidden spot. An unexpected visitor brings wisdom and comfort.





	The Cry

You squint your eyes and lift your chin, running through the darkened corridors towards Queen Frigga’s private herb garden in the back of the palace. The Queen usually collects fresh sprigs of whatever she might need for her magic work just before dawn and the area often remains deserted past the highest sun of the day. Lucky for you, you had been tasked with watering the delicate plants in the evening so even if you were discovered, no one would suspect a thing.

_Don’t let them see me like this. Don’t let them see me fall apart._

You’d been training as a palace servant under a kind woman named Eira for the past three weeks. Eira was firm in her expectations for the highest degree of excellence but gentle in her corrections. You’d caught on quickly – for the most part. You did pour Prince Thor’s beer a little too quickly at the evening feast one time, its head bubbling over and spilling onto the fine sixty seven millenia-old dining table, but he had laughed it off, sloshing it about even more (Loki, rolling his eyes and quirking a smile in your direction, quietly cast a suctioning spell to undo the damage). And there was the time you’d forgotten you were charged with retrieving one of Queen Frigga’s shimmering golden veils from the washroom basin until it was too late and the micro-polishing enchantment took the color completely out of it (easily remedied, and the Queen, gracious creature that she is, actually offered you the afternoon off to recover). 

Palace life had actually been wonderful, for the most part. Certainly much better than near-starvation amongst five siblings in the small village you’d been summoned from. 

But you were lonely. 

Very lonely, in fact. 

Eira made for good company when she was resting (and eagerly shared several highly entertaining stories of the many, many palace visitors from across the nine realms she’d encountered in her centuries of service), but those moments were rare given the nature of palace servant life. 

There were two young Asgardian girls and a boy from Alfheim who’d started at the same time as you but they were similarly occupied with their training and an endless array of tasks. 

You just need a little time in private. To let it all out.

Thankfully, the garden is empty. The sun is just setting, tiny slivers of silver indicating the three moons. 

You crouch down onto a small bench where you know you’ll be out of sight even to the palace guardsmen.

Curling your knees to your chest, the tears begin to fall almost immediately. You think of your littlest brother, a mere infant you’d only known for a week before you left. You think of you two best mates, the only ones in all the nine realms who know all your secrets and whose commentary on the palace goings on you often imagine, cracking a smile and drawing confused looks from the others. You think of your parents, who’d written with updates that you easily read between the lines of and had you making haste to send at least three quarters of the runes and fruit and precious metals you are provided for all your labors back home. 

And along with all that, you think about how different your life would be from what you expected. And how you are terrified. Aye, terrified. You admit it to yourself. What would the future hold? How long would the royal family have you serve? And what would happen to your family if they decided-

By now, you are crying deep sobs, your entire body quaking with the pain of loss and the dark thoughts that now crept into your mind regarding what could happen if you made a grave enough error, or if the royal family simply tired of you.

“If I may-”

You startle, lifting your head to meet a most unexpected sight: Prince Loki himself, practically bowing at the waist towards you, his extended hand garnishing a deep green woven kerchief. 

Sniffling, you reach out and take the kerchief without a word, but incline your head deeply out of respect. 

“Ah uh uh. We’ll have none of that right now,” the prince(!) kneels before you and meets your eyes.

“Now what has you in such a state, little one?” his voice is soft. The softest anyone’s spoken to you since your mother’s parting words that last morning…

You snort in a most ungraceful manner that makes you blush. While the other new servants often gushed about Thor’s rippling muscles and boisterous manner, you’d sit quietly and, only if pressed, admit that you’d been distracted by the delicateness of the master of magic’s long, pale fingers resting around his goblet as he lifted it for you to refill and brilliant eyes that reminded you of the ripest olives from your father's groves as they darted between the faces of the others, drinking in details well beyond your own abilities of perception on more than one occasion. Eira’s first words to you were essentially, “Welcome to the palace, steer clear of Prince Loki and everything will be just fine”…but you found little to fear so far from the quiet, dark-haired man who always thanked you for each helping you provided at meals, actually meeting your eyes in the process. He was much like his mother in his respect for everyone in the palace.

“You needn’t tell me, of course, if you do not wish to. But do know that you may rely upon my discretion, should you feel so inclined.” 

“Actually…your highness, is it OK if-“ you manage between sniffles. 

“If I just,” and something about how his eyes soften and water at bit and his whole face takes on a genuine look of concern sets you off again. 

“Oh dear,” the prince rises and gestures to the place next to you and you nod. 

He sits and stares up at the sky, his slow, deep breaths the only sound apart from your braying. 

You continue to sob for several minutes. Eventually, your retching begins to slow and the tears flow a bit slower. Loki exhales and his body relaxes. He seems almost as relieved as you that the storm is beginning to pass.

“Tell me, child, do you not feel much unburdened?”

“Indeed, I do, your highness.” 

“Oh but let’s drop the formalities just this once. I won’t tell,” he smiles and, for the first time since you entered the garden, you recall what it is to feel levity of spirit.

“OK…Loki,” you blush as only his given name escapes your lips, stripped of titles and pretense. The sense of familiarity with one so high in rank invigorates you. It’s almost as if you’re one of his close warrior friends, ready to set out on a daring raid or dangerous hunt by his side.

“I must commend you on your ability to come undone, little one. You must never feel that such emotion is undesirable in the least. Let it out when it comes. Otherwise, it will consume you.” 

You’re taken aback by how free he is with his wise words. You are, after all, a mere servant in his palace. And he would be so invested in your welfare?

All you can manage in the way of a reply is a very soft, “Mm.”

The two of you stare out at the sky in silence as the moons climb higher, galaxies peaking out from the retreating clouds.

“I should get back now,” you rise and Loki rises beside you. “But I am most grateful for the kindness you have shown me today, your- Loki,” you bow, holding the kerchief out for him. 

Loki takes it, disclosing it quickly with a snap of his fingers, and meets your eyes. “There is one more thing, and only if you so choose it. This is something that I find helps when I myself am in a melancholy state.”

He opens his arms wide and gestures toward himself. You hesitate for a second then rush in. The leather of his sparing vest is a bit cool against your soft cotton tunic (servant's garbs to the royal ones but to you, finery which far exceeded everything you’d owned before arriving at the palace), but as he holds you firm for a minute, you feel his sturdy, beating heart. You close your eyes just as he pulls you away.

“There. I hope that aids in your recovery. Now,” he bows. “I shall be off but wish you well. And, as an assurance of your waxing mirth, I will tell Eira to release you from your duties for the rest of the evening. A good night’s rest most certainly awaits you.”

“Good evening, your highness,” you bow deeply in gratitude as he vanishes in a maelstrom of light.

As you enter the palace, you turn back and look out at the garden, now awash with moonlight and glow flies and, you notice as you look a bit closer, green wisps of magic running through the vines and buds and leaves of each and every tiny plant, all of which are now moist with dew. Each one glowing, existing, seen. 

Aye. You are going to be OK.


End file.
